


Inevitable(?)

by Brynrei



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Assisted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suicide Attempt, The Death Cure, The Death Cure Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-18 03:20:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3554120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynrei/pseuds/Brynrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of the Group A and B subjects are immune and Ava Paige is not what she seems.<br/>(AKA a retelling of the canonical events with a slightly twisted backstory)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inevitable(?)

**Author's Note:**

> all of the Thomas and Newt dialogue is taken straight from the book and i own none of it.

“It’s a pity, is it not?” the taut-faced woman spoke finally, turning around. Strands of hair had fallen out of her tight bun, being the only part of her that betrayed doubts as she ran her fingers through the frazzled locks self-consciously. She straightened up and put her hand down, turning around to face her colleague.

“Yes, Chancellor,” he told her, his wiry face devoid of any emotion.

She sighed and looked back at the screens in front of her. There were so many, all playing varying repeating clips of the same group of kids, almost all boys. The sound on them was muted, but based on the images some of them showed, having it on would be almost as terrifying as taking part on-camera.

“Ava, I don’t understand,” the man spoke again. His tone this time was more hushed and inquisitive. “Why did you have me tell the kids that some of them were immune and some weren't? I understand the genius of having a control group, but what’s the point of lying to them?”

“We have to follow through with the experiment, Janson,” she said. “We need to give them a motive to help us develop a cure. More specifically, we need to give Thomas a motive. Teresa’s out of the question, so it has to be Subject A-five. The Glue. Newt, we called him.”

Janson didn't look much less confused. “Why not A-seven, the Leader? They’re also close. We could have even done Brenda if we had been so inclined.”

“No,” the Chancellor shook her head and looked back to the screens. On one of them, dated a few months back, a boy was climbing one of the walls steadily. Halfway up, he jumped. Ava winced slightly at that memory but watched him fall to what he had thought of as his death all that time ago. She turned back to Janson before the boy hit the ground on-screen. “It has to be him. Besides, what’s done is done.”

He nodded slowly. “In that case, do you give permission to engage in the next Phase?”

She paused for a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh, she said, “Permission granted.”

Janson turned on his heel and walked out of the room, no doubt heading to the lab responsible for controlling the chips implanted in the subjects’ brains. There was no turning back now.

\---

Newt had been expecting it. The news that he wasn't immune had struck him like a spear that he had seen from a mile away but couldn’t move out of the path of, and yet he hadn't understood why Thomas had been the one doubled over himself, breathing heavily at the thought that this kid he barely knew was going to go crazy and die.

He knew Thomas probably hadn't noticed, but he had. The thoughts in his head had gotten more intrusive, more volatile and explosive, like they had that time many months ago where all he could think about was dying. This time, all he could think of was killing. They were still sporadic and rare, but getting increasingly more common. It ate him from the inside out. The thoughts tore at him. They weren't his own, he knew, but they were always in his own voice, always there, in the background if not pestering him actively. He hated it. Sometimes they’d come out in the form of spoken words and he could do nothing to stop them, only stand there as this monster in his brain spoke, thrashed, yelled, exploded. Soon, the last thoughts that were his own became only focused on ending the intrusion in his mind.

The pain of seeing Thomas cry over him had almost made Newt forget about the Flare eating away at his brain. “Tommy, slim yourself,” he had said, knowing the fake grin he had put on wasn't going to fool Thomas. The brunet boy had seemed like he was about to turn on his friend and when he had protested, Newt had attempted to seem nonchalant about it.

He still didn't think Thomas had bought it.

"You swear to me that you won’t read what’s inside that bloody envelope until the time is right," Newt said to Thomas--Tommy- _-_ after giving him the note. The piece of paper with two sentences scribbled on it now lay in the brunet's pocket, awaiting the moment it would be opened. Newt didn't know whether he felt apprehension about it or hope, but he wished that maybe once the time came, he could have relief. He would be free.

A small sense of regret tugged at him, though, an inkling of fear that the scrawled note couldn't convey exactly what he wanted it to. He wondered if he could have added more to it, poured out the feelings that were pounding at his ribcage every time he looked at Thomas. But no, Newt thought, telling Thomas about what he truly meant to him wouldn't work. It would only make it more difficult for Thomas-- _Tommy_ \-- to kill him.

Newt was sure of that. At least he thought he was.

The worry in Thomas's features after he swore was killing him already, and he wanted it to end faster. Thomas protested, but Newt promptly cut him off with the single most painful sentence that he had ever said to the younger boy.

"Break your promise and I'll never forgive you."

Newt wasn't sure whether he meant that. The idea of the intrusion in his mind flared and crawled up his spine and ran through his veins until he was sure that yes, he needed for this to be over. The voices were intermingled with his own now, tempting, incessant, begging, and they tore at him and controlled him just like that idea that they had given him a few months ago, that little whisper that had said,  _"Go on, jump. It's better this way."_

Newt would never forgive Thomas if he didn't keep the promise. Of this, he was sure.

\---

"Chancellor," the man spoke, looking at the computer screen with furrowed eyebrows and a frown. "Despite our best efforts to prevent this and simultaneously hide the extent of our brain chip technology, Subjects A-two and A-seven have gotten their chips removed."

The blond woman let out a sigh, but crossed her arms and faced him. "And A-five, Newt?"

Janson shook his head. "There's no way for him to get into the city without being caught, at least not that they know. If he is tested for the Flare, it will show up as a negative, but that's not to their knowledge."

"Good. He's the only one whose chip we need to keep the facade up. Get your connections up and send people in to get him and take him to the Crank Palace before they realize anything. Assimilating him with the others will have a deeper psychological impact on his mental state and it will look more convincing."

"Yes, Chancellor Paige."

\---

"I thought I told you bloody shanks to get lost!"

The anger evident in Newt's tone drowned out any doubt he had about it having to be there. He was livid, with thoughts swirling around in his mind like a hurricane of emotional turmoil. The thoughts had been getting increasingly more agitating and persistent in those few days. He thought that his heartbeat might forever stay in a heightened state, rapidly hammering away at his chest at an incomprehensible pace. Ever since he had taken that Launcher from a guard, something in him had snapped, it seemed.

He could sense Minho and Thomas and whoever else was with them fidgeting and shifting. He heard them try to get him to come with them and he heard himself refuse and scream in response, but none of the words quite made it to his brain enough for him to remember them clearly. He only remembered the emotions they carried and those left a violent imprint on his being. 

The virus was surging through his system again and suddenly he was standing up and pointing the Launcher at his friends, finger poised to shoot it. He was yelling something at Minho, and the intense anger that overtook him was so unbearable that he could barely hold back the bloodlust. At some point, he broke and spat, with all the harshness and vulgarity he could muster, something much more painful than the phrase that had broken his heart the last time.

“And you, Tommy. You've got a lot of nerve coming here and asking me to leave with you. A lot of bloody nerve. The sight of you makes me sick.”

It wasn't really true, or was it? He didn't know, he just needed them to leave before they saw him completely break down.

Minho fought, and more Cranks came to defend Newt. It was too much for him to take and he screamed for them to _stop_ and eventually he couldn't take it anymore and he fired. The relief he felt at the Launcher grenade hitting a Crank instead of Minho or Tommy was short-lived once he yelled for them to leave again, breathing raggedly and feeling the tears stain his cheeks with the desperation in his tone.

The pain in Tommy's eyes made Newt wish he would just kill him on the spot, like he had sworn to do. Then he could be free of the pain manifesting in his head and the hatred he felt burn for Thomas as he grabbed Minho and the girl and walked away from their diseased friend, illustrating the ground under his feet with the promise that he didn't keep. 

Newt hated him. But most of all, he hated himself for loving him in the first place.

\---

 "The Cranks are planning a revolt on the palace and an escape into Denver," Janson said, reading the papers on his clipboard. His tone was grim but he held himself firmly as he faced his authority figure.

Chancellor Ava Paige only nodded quietly, still looking at the screens that displayed street corners, some empty, most morbid. "Let them out," she said.

"Why?" the man stammered, confused.

"Because," she sighed and looked at him over her shoulder, "due to his insatiable need to be away from them, they've given up. And we need Thomas to see him again, so maybe he will change his mind and help us develop the cure."

"Wouldn't it be simpler to look for another solution? Find another subject?"

"No. There is hope for him yet. He's expendable, yes. But he's our best bet. Prepare for the gates to be opened."

With a heavy sigh, Janson nodded and left the room.

\---

For the first time in days, Newt felt empty. He was apathetic now. He didn't care about the mauled bodies he saw. Occasionally, a tingling sense of fear would grab hold of him but it would ebb away as quickly as it had sprung on him, and he learned to not pay attention to such feelings. The streets were filled with Cranks like him. Somewhere along the way, his shirt got ripped and chunks of his hair got torn out, and the rest of the long blond mess stopped being blond and started being dirty and red. He only needed to survive now, although he wondered why, or how, he was even alive. For the past few months, all he had ever wanted to do was die.

There was a van of some sort tumbling across the street, and he saw it crash, maybe, due to some other cars. It looked like it was about to leave, but then the door opened and a walking nightmare got out and stumbled towards the blond boy. It closed the distance between them to about halfway before it stopped, worrisome and floating, and said in a familiar voice, "Hey, Newt. It's me, Thomas. You still remember me, right?"

Newt felt the indifference suddenly clear, now replaced by a strange mix of pain, anger, and need. Having nothing else to say, he spat what he could muster: “I bloody remember you, Tommy. You just came to see me at the Palace, rubbed it in that you ignored my note. I can’t go completely crazy in a few days.”

“Then why are you here? Why are you with … them?”

Newt thought that was a stupid question. He was there with them because he was one of them, naturally. Why couldn't Thomas see that? But he gathered enough sense in his muddled brain to say, “It comes and goes, man. I can’t explain it. Sometimes I can’t control myself, barely know what I’m doing. But usually it’s just like an itch in my brain, throwing everything off-kilter just enough to bother me—make me angry.”

“You seem fine right now.” Thomas seemed like he was trying to tread carefully, and Newt felt the urge to laugh.

“Yeah, well. The only reason I’m with these wackers from the Palace is because I don’t know what else to do. They’re fighting, but they’re also a group. You find yourself alone, you don’t have a bloody chance.”

The desperation in Thomas's voice was prominent and unmasked when he practically begged, “Newt, come with me this time, right now. We can take you somewhere safer, somewhere better to …”

The blond boy gave into the urge to laugh finally, and he felt his body awkwardly convulsing. That had been happening more often recently, as if the virus was struggling to hold him in his place. Or as if he was struggling to keep himself from the Gone. He finally said, “Get out of here, Tommy. Get away.”

“Just come with me,” Thomas tried again, pleading. “I’ll tie you up if it makes you feel better.”

That sent Newt up the wall, as if Thomas thought that restraining his body would help him hold onto the bonds breaking in his mind. It was infuriating, and the anger took hold of him full-force until he found himself screaming out all of the pain that he had been trying to lock inside of himself since the day he woke up and didn't remember who he was. “Just shut up, you shuck traitor! Didn’t you read my note? You can’t do one last, lousy thing for me? Gotta be the hero, like always? I hate you! I always hated you!”

“Newt …” 

The expression on Thomas's face was breaking him, but he couldn't stop the words from spilling out in all of his fury.

“It was all your fault! You could’ve stopped them when the first Creators died. You could’ve figured out a way. But no! You had to keep it going, try to save the world, be the hero. And you came to the Maze and never stopped. All you care about is yourself! Admit it! Gotta be the one people remember, the one people worship! We should’ve thrown you down the Box hole!”

He barely registered the fact that he was taking steps towards Thomas, and his fists were numb and probably white from being clenched so hard.

Newt heard someone yell from the van. It was something threatening, but he hardly heard it.

Thomas turned to the van and yelled for whoever had made the threat to not do anything, before looking back at his friend. “Newt, stop. Just listen to me. I know you’re okay in there. Enough to hear me out.”

“I hate you, Tommy!” Newt yelled again, the overwhelming force of the words threatening to break him. “I hate you I hate you I hate you! After all I did for you, after all the freaking klunk I went through in the bloody Maze, you can’t do the one and only thing I’ve ever asked you to do! I can’t even look at your ugly shuck face!”

Thomas was moving away from him, his speech coming in rapid slurs. “Newt, you need to stop. They’re going to shoot you. Just stop and listen to me! Get in the van, let me tie you up. Give me a chance!” 

It was all a blur, but suddenly Newt was on top of his friend, straddling him and glaring into the abyss of his dark eyes. “I should rip your eyes out,” Newt spat out the words like venom, feeling the rage rushing through his bloodstream at an unimaginable pace. “Teach you a lesson in stupidity. Why’d you come over here? You expected a bloody hug? Huh? A nice sit-down to talk about the good times in the Glade?” Some part of him wished that he could give that to Thomas and more, but the anger was untamable and he was letting it control him.

Tommy was shaking his head then, fear displayed on his face, and Newt saw in his peripheral vision how his hand was creeping toward the gun he had hidden. He felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him.

“You wanna know why I have this limp, Tommy?" he said, unable to stop himself from talking. A spark of hope fueled inside of him at the thought of fooling Thomas into finally killing him. "Did I ever tell you? No, I don’t think I did.”

“What happened?” Thomas asked, clearly having not caught on as his fingers grasped the gun.

He didn't really need to keep talking, but he said the next part anyway. "I tried to kill myself in the Maze." The memory tore at Newt, and he willed it away, still glaring intensely at Thomas. "Climbed halfway up one of those bloody walls and jumped right off. Alby found me and dragged me back to the Glade right before the Doors closed. I hated the place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day. And it was all … your … fault!” Without warning, he twisted around, grabbing Thomas by the hand he had around the weapon. In a second, the barrel of the gun was pressed against his forehead and he kept it there with his hand, staring wildly at Thomas and screaming, “Now make amends! Kill me before I become one of those cannibal monsters! Kill me! I trusted you with the note! No one else. Now do it!”

Newt could feel the other boy resisting him and trying to pull away, but this time Newt's strength outmatched his. “I can’t, Newt," he whispered. "I can’t.”

“Make amends! Repent for what you did!” He cried out. Something buzzed in the back of his head, and he felt his hand tremble as if some force inside of him was trying to pull it away from his forehead, but he held it there with all his might, clenching the gun as his voice dropped to a hushed susurrus and he pleaded, “Kill me, you shuck coward. Prove you can do the right thing. Put me out of my misery.”

Thomas looked horrified, as if Newt had told him that the world was ending. He felt a pang of guilt there, maybe something more. “Newt, maybe we can—”

“Shut up! Just shut up! I trusted you! Now do it!”

“I can’t.”

"Do it!”

“I can’t!” Thomas looked like he was about to cry then, and the culpability ripped Newt's heart to shreds, but he forced himself to keep insisting.

“Kill me or I’ll kill you. Kill me! Do it!”

“Newt …” The name sounded raw when Tommy said it.

“Do it before I become one of them!”

“I …”

Something had been circling inside of Newt for the length of the conversation and he had been trying to ignore it, but he finally felt it rising to the surface. Some strange feeling, like what he had felt when he knew the virus was controlling him, but more demanding and less powerful. He tried to disregard it again as he said the truly most painful thing that he had ever said to this boy whom he loved with all his heart.

“KILL ME!” Newt screamed, and the blaring alarms going off in his head shifted into overdrive, but then he willed them away and begged, hoping the clearness in his voice was evident. “Please, Tommy. Please.”

That feeling in his mind returned a moment later, and it was like someone was speaking into his head suddenly, and it wasn't him anymore. 

_You are the last resort. You don't have to die. You don't have the Flare. This was all a tes--_

The voice was interrupted with the fire of a gun, and everything went dark.

 

**Author's Note:**

> im really sorry


End file.
